


Festive Fun

by xspike4evax



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Gen, Vampire Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-10 15:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8922025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xspike4evax/pseuds/xspike4evax
Summary: Three stand alone one shots taking place over the winter months/ holiday season. Two Spike/Willow's and one Spike & Angelus (not shippy)





	1. Hanin' Around The Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Title taken from the song by Brooks & Dunn  
> Written for bad_swa prompt table: kiss and Nekid_Spike festive prompt: mistletoe

The only light came from the flickering images on the TV screen. Spike hadn't bothered to put the lights on. He wouldn't have bothered to draw the curtains either, but the Watcher had done that before heading out for the evening to meet with some friends. The others were going to some Christmas party at The Bronze. No-one had thought to invite him along. He wasn't particularly bothered about that, he didn't want to spend any more time with the Slayer than was necessary; but it would have been nice to have someone at least spare him a passing thought. 

Spike had considered going to The Bronze just to spoil things for the Slayer, but he hadn't wanted to watch a certain red head smiling and dancing with every male under the sun except him. He had toyed with the idea of going to Willy's and getting blind stinking drunk; but why bother to go out and spend money on booze when the Watcher had a nice selection right here in the apartment. Besides, it was nice to have the place to himself; somewhere quiet he could drink himself into oblivion and not have to worry about rolling on home before dawn. 

The door suddenly opened and Spike glanced around just as the light came on; his little witch was here. And she had the nerve to look like every Christmas and birthday present he'd ever been denied. Seeing the brightly wrapped gift, just as he had as a child, all Spike wanted to do was to tear back the paper and reveal the treasure beneath; but he was forbidden from doing so.

"Spike!" Her hand went to her heart and her eyes closed for a moment. "What are you doing sitting alone in the dark?" 

"What are you doin’ here? Thought you were supposed to be at The Bronze." 

"I am." Willow crossed the room dropping her bag onto the table. "I'm looking for my ticket. I can't find it anywhere and I can't get in without it. And if I can't get into The Bronze you might be stuck with me all night." 

Spike got to his feet and followed her into the kitchen, eyes raking over her slender figure encased in a black dress; simple yet perfectly effective. Even his precious Drusilla hadn't been able to cause the tightening of his gut the way Willow did. She had a natural beauty that out shone the brightest of stars. 

Hunting around the kitchen, Willow let out a sigh when she came up empty. She turned to go back into the living room but found Spike leaning idly in the doorframe watching her.  
Spike scanned her slowly, from her shoes up the long expanse of creamy legs to her belly, her breasts and finally her face. Their eyes met and, almost unbelievably, he heard the sudden stutter of her heart.

His hand went to her hair, stroking softly. She didn't move away and Spike felt a tingle run up his back and settle between his legs. "You look nice tonight." 

A wash of pink coloured her cheeks. "Thank you." Willow cleared her throat, her eyes drifting downward for a moment. "I... um, could I..." She made a gesture and Spike swivelled sideways in the doorway, allowing her a small space to pass him. 

She had just stepped level with him when Spike's arm shot out barring her way. She started and glanced up curiously. He gave her a long look and then looked pointedly at the ceiling. Willow followed his gaze to the large bunch of mistletoe hanging above their heads. She coloured again and her heart beat sped up causing Spike to wet his lower lip and that tingle to run over his skin again. 

"They say it's bad luck to refuse a kiss under the mistletoe."

Willow glanced up. "Bad luck?" 

"So they say." 

"Well, I guess ...you know, living on the Hellmouth, we should try to avoid bad luck." 

Spike's lips curved into a smile. "Just what I was thinkin’, love." 

Cupping her face, Spike drew her to him, satisfied when he felt her body move into his and her eyes drifted shut in anticipation of his kiss. His lips touched hers, his tongue slipping into her mouth to stroke against hers; he almost melted. 

His free hand spanned her waist, his thumb nestling at the base of her spine, stroking slowly back and forth. His muscles went taut when he felt her grab at his arms and hold on tightly. Applying a small amount of pressure to her lower back, Spike guided her closer, her hips pressing against his; thrilled when he heard a soft moan vibrate in the back of her throat.

When he felt her need to breathe making itself known Spike pulled back, but kept his hands lingering on her body. She stared up at him wide eyed and red lipped, breath coming in little panting bursts. 

"You know," he pitched his voice low and throaty. "There's a tradition that says you should pick a berry for every kiss an' the kissin' shouldn't stop 'til all the berries are gone." If she laughed he couldn't bear it. If she looked at him as though he were nothing he'd die.

She looked again at the mistletoe. "There's a lot of berries on that one. Guess we'll be here for a while, huh?" 

"Might at that," Spike agreed. "You might miss your party."

She smiled shyly. "I think they can get along without me."

Her hands slid up his arms to curl around his neck and her lips sought his, warm and soft and everything he wanted. He drew her closer, and closer still, until she was pressed up against him, her heart beating against his chest, the warmth of her body seeping into his skin through the cotton of his t-shirt. 

His lips coaxed hers apart, his tongue tasting with a new hunger she seemed to recognise by the way her arms tightened around him and she kissed him back a little harder, a littler needier. 

The kiss deepened, Spike's mouth ravishing hers, as though he would never in this life time or the next get enough of her. She tasted like wild strawberries, like hot summer days and warm sultry summer darkness. 

He broke the kiss for a moment to allow her some much needed air, but she didn't seem to want to breathe.

"Spike...." she murmured, her fingers tangling in his hair dragging his mouth back to hers.

Spike went willingly. He was sure even the fires of hell couldn't compare to the wildfire coursing through his veins as he kissed her harder, deeper; and she responded by giving herself over to him completely. 

As Spike lost himself in the delicious ambrosia that was Willow, he figured that Anya's insistence in partaking in all Christmas traditions for her first official Christmas as a human had lent him a little bit of luck and presented him with an opportunity; but the ticket to the Christmas party at The Bronze tucked away in his back pocket; well, Spike wasn't above creating his own opportunities. He couldn't rely on luck for everything. Sometimes fate needed a little helping hand; like the nimble hands of a pickpocketing vampire.


	2. Sleigh Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William and Angelus have some fun in Norway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sleigh from nekid spike festive cards on LJ
> 
> Title taken from the song by Leroy Anderson

It had been the book found in the library of the Earl of Worcester which had inspired events. With the humans dead Darla, Angelus, Drusilla and William had commandeered the house for themselves and William had been stretched out in front of the fire reading aloud to Darla from a history book about ancient Rome when the idea had taken root.   
It wasn't until months later when they found themselves in Norway for Christmas, Drusilla had insisted upon snow this year, that William and Angelus had been presented with the opportunity of trying out something similar. 

Now, with the thick snow glowing orange in the flames devouring the little Norwegian village, William and Angelus raced wildly across the fields. William stood, feet planted firmly apart pushing into the smooth wood of the sleigh, a long whip in his hands, coat billowing out behind him as he urged the horses faster. The wind hit him hard in the face, tugging his soft brown hair free from its black ribbon at the nape of his neck. His cravat was askew, tan breeches splattered with blood and the cold air had caused a ribbon of blood to harden and crack as it made it’s away from the corner of his mouth down his chin. He glanced off to his left, a grin splitting his face to find his horses were out pacing those of Angelus, his sleigh gliding effortlessly out in front. 

Angelus was also on his feet, leaning over the curled front panel of his sleigh yelling at his horses and waving the whip frantically. 

It wasn't exactly the chariot races of ancient Rome, but it was good enough for William; especially as he was winning. 

The horses' hooves kicked up a cloud of powdery snow and it blew back towards him, sprinkling his hair and clothes. The trees were covered in snow, icicles dangling from the bare branches, sparkling in the moonlight, lending a touch of mystery and enchantment to the countryside, the peace shattered by the jangling of the bells on the horses harness.   
The horses snorted, little white puffs appearing in the air as they raced onwards, cutting an easy path through the soft snow, manes bouncing around in the same manner as William's hair. 

There was a long line of towering evergreens looming in front of him, the end of the line; William yanked on the reins, urging his horses into the turn. The horses began to slow, panting hard, and William, laughing, looked over his shoulder to Angelus who was just bringing up the rear. 

"Looks like I beat you." 

Angelus scowled. "Mine was fatter than yours. More resistance."

William laughed harder. "You insisted on having the priest. You and your fetishes." 

Flopping back into the seat as the horses nickered and tossed their heads, Angelus lifted his boots onto the front of the sleigh and surveyed the destruction they had caused. "It's been a good night." 

William watched the black smoke curling into the air, the fire crackled loudly as it greedily gobbled up the little wooden houses. There was a groan as some structure or other buckled and gave way, crashing to the ground. He eyed the tracks they had made; the horses’ hooves, the two continuous grooves of the blades and an odd, jerking furrow that swung from left to right; the trail left behind by the bodies they had each chosen to drag along behind their sleigh. Angelus had picked the priest. William had picked the body closest to him. 

The blood from their victim's wounds made interesting patterns in the snow; splatters and arch's and swirls. 

"Nothing like blood on snow," William commented. 

"Very nice," Angelus agreed. The artist in him rose to the surface. "Snow is like a blank canvass, the blood of your victims the perfect pallet." 

Two women appeared near the burning village, one tall and dark the other smaller and fair, the firelight gleaming off her blonde hair. The dark lady waved at them, the white of a fur muff tucked onto her hand. 

Drusilla would like the sleigh, William thought he would take her for a ride later. Not a mad dash across the field, but a nice little ride into the woods where there snow muffled all sound and the frost would sparkle like fairy dust. Drusilla would enjoy that. 

"Race you back," Angelus said, crawling to the back of the sleigh to cut the priest free. He tossed the knife to William who caught it easily by the handle. 

William cut the rope binding the dead body to the sleigh. "I'll still beat you. Dead weight or no dead weight." 

Righting himself and taking up the reins he exchanged a look with Angelus and they both flapped the reins at the same time. William had picked well, his horses began to outstrip Angelus' and he laughed; a free joyful sound. He was already celebrating his second win of the night, the horses’ muscles straining as they pulled the whooping vampire back across the field.


	3. The Winds of Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything Spike had done was for them, and if he had to, he'd do it all over again. Now he had perfect happiness, he had Willow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Snow, from nekid spike festive prompts at LJ

The snow was falling heavily in thick, dancing flakes; the bare branches of the trees looked black and eerie against the deep blue sky which promised the snow would continue to fall well into the night. 

Spike stood in the window of the living room, the fire crackling behind him, music playing softly. The grounds of their home were covered over in a deep layer of snow that glistened and sparkled blue in the twilight. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips when his wandering gaze alighted on the solitary figure walking through the snow, leaving sunken footprints behind her. She wore a faded patchwork coat without the hood up, her red hair hung loose down her back gathering the gently falling snow in amongst the long strands. 

He knew she liked to walk in the snow, it wasn’t something she had been able to indulge in when living in Sunnydale and Willow enjoyed the winter months. He enjoyed the winter months too; nothing better than living in a small cottage in the English countryside with nobody around for miles except the two of them, curling up together in front of the fire with hot chocolate and talking and making love until all hours. 

Unlife was pretty perfect and he had her self-righteous friends to thank for it. They were afraid of her, thought she was some sort of magic junkie just because she’d gone overboard once or twice. They had turned their backs on her, having no idea how to help her they had run from the problem in the hopes that Willow, always the smart one, could figure things out for herself. 

She couldn’t figure it out by herself, Spike had seen that well enough. She needed someone to help her, someone to hold on to, someone who wouldn’t judge her and would only love her and look after her. She hadn’t known it when he had picked her out of the gutter where her friends had left her; but he was that person. 

Broken and lonely, terrified of what she had become, ashamed of what she was; Willow had been only too grateful for someone to care, to find someone who wouldn’t turn his back on her. Spike had encouraged her to listen to him, to let him help her. 

Hurt and betrayed by her friends, it hadn’t taken much persuading to convince her to leave Sunnydale, for her own protection. For her own good. For the sake of her friends. It was the Hellmouth, he said, it corrupted her because she wasn’t strong enough to control herself. 

Desperate to be anything other than a magic junkie, Willow had believed him. 

Spike wasn’t entirely sure he had merely been feeding her a line; even if it was for her own good. 

He had brought her to England, safely away from the Slayer and Harris and the watered down version of a human being Willow claimed to love. It hadn’t been easy convincing her to allow him to say her goodbyes for her; but he was a master at manipulation, he knew how to play on her already fragile emotions. She wouldn’t do what was best for herself, if they selfishly asked her to stay then she would. If they didn’t ask her to stay she would be hurt. Best all round to let him explain things; no emotions involved. 

Luckily for him, Willow had bowed down to his stronger, more forceful personality and agreed to his suggestion. She had written letters to explain and apologise as best she could; he had promised to deliver them. He hadn’t. Hadn’t in fact, ever gone to see any of them. So far as her friends were concerned one day Spike and Willow were in Sunnydale and the next they had disappeared off the face of the earth. 

Willow had written further letters when they had settled in England. Spike had managed to dissuade her from having a computer. The others had no idea about computers, they didn’t check emails and she didn’t need it for research. He told her calling wasn’t a good idea either; she was supposed to be recuperating, learning to control her magic; but any hint of trouble back in Sunnydale and she’d go home before she was ready and undo all her good work and put herself and everyone else at risk from her magic. 

She had cried bitter tears when she received no response from her friends to her heartfelt letters and offers to call her. Willow couldn’t know they had no address to write to and no phone number to dial. He had never mailed her letters. It wasn’t a betrayal of her trust, Spike had only said he would do it; he hadn’t promised. 

Better this way, no interference. The Slayer and her pals had interfered in his plans one time too many and royally screwed things up for him. Spike wasn’t taking that risk this time. 

Tears were confusing for him. Essentially he had caused them, even if Willow was unaware of it and Spike didn’t like seeing her hurt, but he did like being the one to offer comfort. He liked holding her, stroking her hair, rocking her slowly until she calmed and settled nicely in his arms as content to be held as he was to do the holding. 

It had happened quicker than Spike had anticipated; Willow falling in love with him. Shut away from the world, abandoned by her friends and her lover; just the two of them together every minute of the day with him taking care of her, listening to her, supporting her, protecting her; her love was inevitable. Everything he did was for her own good, to protect her; she was a brave, compassionate little thing, always willing to put her life on the line to help someone else. He couldn’t have that, couldn’t lose her now that he had her. 

By the time Willow had gained enough confidence to stand on her own two feet again they had already carved out a life together of peace and quiet and the silence of her friends made her hesitate to go back to Sunnydale; if they wanted her, if they were willing to forgive her, surely they would have contacted her by now. 

His manipulation wouldn't have worked with a woman like Anya or the Slayer, but Willow had always been low on self-esteem; pair that with his natural ability to twist things to his own advantage and Spike had found himself home and dry. He had Willow all to himself. 

Time passed, days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and they remained in their own corner of the world; happy, content, just the two of them. 

Spike left the house, pulling on his black leather duster. He followed her small tracks, feet crunching in the snow, as he made his way across the garden to where Willow was standing, looking out over the barren fields. 

Willow turned as he approached and Spike smiled at her cold reddened cheeks. “What’re you up to out ‘ere, pet?” 

“I had a fuzzy head. I thought some fresh air might help. You were reading, I didn't want to disturb you.” Willow reached out a gloved hand and flicked a snowflake from his cheek. She pulled the collar of her coat higher around her ears when a sudden icy gust of wind whipped by, sending her hair dancing wildly. 

“Such a beauty you are, love. Winter suits you.” 

“So are you,” she offered, and Spike laughed, delighting in her attention, sliding an arm around her waist. “But I prefer you in firelight, it makes you look exactly what you are.” 

“And what’s that?”

“Beautiful. Deadly. Something not entirely belonging to this world and all the more wonderful because of it.” 

His head tilted curiously, cold fingers stroking the soft skin of her cheek, as pale as the snow they were standing in, touching to her nose, tracing her lips. She was so perfect, so exquisite and she was all his. "You think I'm wonderful?" 

She nodded. "I can't even begin to count how many ways you've been there for me, Spike. Everyone else abandoned me, but you were there. You've looked after me. You helped me stay strong. I don't know where I'd be right now if it wasn't for you." 

Sliding her arms around his waist and up his back, Willow kissed him and Spike's lips began to tingle from the sudden warmth of her mouth. She sighed contentedly, holding him tighter, head tilting back to allow him to deepen their kiss. 

She was soft and warm, her kisses eager and willing; gentle and deep, touching something inside him that stirred and shivered and surged. His hands held her face, cradling her gently as his thumb stroked over her cheek bone. 

His tongue flickered over hers, stroking leisurely, exploring slowly. Spike felt her shiver, his body tightening in response to the low moan he felt rather than heard in the back of her throat. 

Spike lifted his mouth from hers a fraction when breathing became paramount, but it was merely a pause for Spike was kissing her again before she could completely catch her breath. 

This time Spike could taste the cold of their kiss and he knew that somehow a snowflake had become trapped between them and had melted into the kiss. It made Willow taste like winter.

When the kiss broke for a second time Spike's hands slid from her face, fingers fanning out against her neck, the pad of his thumb touching to her pulse point. Spike dropped a playful kiss on the tip of her nose. “We'd better go inside. The snow is gettin' heavier and it's gettin' cold. There's a fire in the livin' room just waitin' for you."

Pulling the side of his coat open, Willow curled herself into his side and Spike tucked her in beneath his arm, drawing his coat around her, luxuriating in her warmth. 

"Spike," she smoothed a hand over his chest, glancing coyly up at him. "When we get in, will you warm me up?"

Tongue tucking into his cheek Spike gave her a long, knowing look. "You can count on it, love." 

Everything he had done, he had done for them. So he'd had to fudge the truth a little to get them there. So he'd had to hurt her in the short term to make her happy in the long-term. He'd do it all again in a heartbeat. He made her happy. Willow now loved him as he loved her. She had even deactivated the chip for him. 

If Angel's perfect happiness was even a fraction of what he was feeling Spike could better understand how Angel had lost his soul. 

He would give it a few years, let her have time to experience life as a human, and then he would keep her forever.


End file.
